


It Happens for the First Time on Dean’s 21st Birthday

by AmyPond45



Series: 12 Days of Wincestmas 2017 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Wincest - Freeform, underage (Sam is 16 Dean is 21)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 15:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/pseuds/AmyPond45
Summary: Dean doesn’t think too much about how good Sam looks, or how good it feels to be pressed against his body when they spar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soy_em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/gifts).



It happens for the first time on Dean’s 21st birthday.

They’d been holed up in some god-forsaken town in Eastern Idaho for over a month, since just before Christmas. Dad was gone, of course. He’d made vague promises that he’d be back in a few days, but when Dean finally reached him by phone he was already a week overdue.

“I’ll be there for your birthday, son,” Dad promised, but Dean knew better than to believe that. John had missed all but four of his birthdays, and those had all been before Mom died.

Sam had enrolled himself in the local high school, forging John’s signature on all the papers. At sixteen-and-a-half Sam was long and lanky and just starting to grow some solid muscle. He was a constant distraction, folding himself into the couch or armchair with a book, long legs curling around chairs as he studied at the tiny kitchen table. He chewed on his bottom lip until it was raw and red, chewed his fingernails until they bled. Dean had to physically pull him out of his books to get him to practice his wrestling moves. Dean pushed the furniture out of the way in the living room so they could spar inside, since it was too cold and icy outside.

Sam was growing stronger, getting bigger in every way. It was getting harder to pin him. It wasn’t as easy to come out on top. Dean couldn’t help pushing Sam to find new limits, and Dean kept adjusting his own moves to stay one step ahead. Sam was still unsure of his new body, and Dean was able to use that to his advantage, grappling with flailing arms and legs that were longer than Sam realized, throwing off his balance.

Dean still came out on top, but he could feel Sam’s strength, could feel the promise of future power in Sam’s long body. He’d never tell Sam this, but someday he was pretty sure Sam would win.

Not today, though. Today Sam was flat on his front on the floor, arms twisted behind his back, Dean sitting on his hips to keep him down. Dean waits for the fight to drain out of him before letting Sam go, stepping back just to be sure Sam doesn’t trip him. Dean’s learned the hard way not to stand too close after Sam’s been bested.

“Good work today,” Dean praises. “You can have the first shower. I’m gonna go check on my baby.”

He doesn’t think about how good it felt to have Sam’s body laid out under his. He ignores the obvious bulge in Sam’s jeans and his own throbbing dick. Just adrenaline, he assures himself as he takes in Sam’s flushed cheeks, his sweat-drenched neck and arms, his messy hair. Dean doesn’t dwell on how much he likes being pressed hard against Sam’s body.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has an epiphany.

It’s unspoken between them that Dean’s going out tonight. It’s not just his birthday, it’s his 21st birthday. He’s legal, not that he hasn’t been using fake IDs to get into bars and buy liquor for the past three years. But being of age to do those things legally feels like a new era. He’s going bar-hopping tonight just on principal.

But after an hour of showing off his new ID and getting half-hearted congratulations from bartenders and waitresses, Dean finds himself heading home, back to the only person he really wants to celebrate this particular milestone with.

“You’re home early,” Sam comments with a wary frown. Sam’s used to Dean being out most of the night, coming home smelling like perfume and sex. Dean’s not really sure why he didn’t even call that girl he hooked up with the other night, why he didn’t even tell her that tonight was his birthday.

“Yeah, well, I figured I’d spread my celebrating around. Share some good cheer with my pain-in-the-ass little brother.” Dean raises the bag with the whisky he bought on the way home and watches Sam’s look of surprise light up his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” Dean shrugs. “You’re sixteen. I had my first real drink when I was about your age. How about we watch a movie and get a little tanked?”

Sam’s so eager and happy-looking it makes Dean’s heart clench. He feels guilty for leaving Sam alone so many nights over the past month. It can’t be fun, being left home to study while Dean’s making out with some girl or getting laid if he’s lucky. Dean recalls some of Sam’s sulky looks when Dean came home earlier this month and he’s glad he decided to come home tonight.

They find a James Bond marathon on TV and settle in, Dean on the couch and Sam on the floor next to him, almost but not quite touching Dean’s leg. Sam opens a bag of Funyuns and they share the bottle of whisky. After Sam’s first sip he coughs and sputters and Dean laughs delightedly and pounds him on the back.

“That’s my boy.”

Sam scrambles to his feet and heads to the kitchen for water, and Dean gets a glimpse of Sam’s red-tipped nose and cheeks, Sam’s watering eyes. When he comes back with a glass of water Dean’s already had another sip of the whisky, tasting the salty onion flavor from Sam’s mouth.

Sam refuses Dean’s second and third offer from the bottle but manages a sip after Dean’s fourth drink, gulping his water afterwards.

“I could water it down for you, Sammy,” Dean offers. “Just put some ice cubes in a glass and mix it with water.”

Sam shakes his head. He’s too tough, too determined to keep up with his big brother, which he cannot do in the drinking department, as Dean’s sure he knows.

Dean grins at the top of Sam’s head and takes another swig from the bottle. He’s warm and loose, and it feels good. He lets his free hand rest on the couch, right behind Sam’s shoulder blades. He feels the urge to touch Sam’s head, to card the soft strands of hair through his fingers. From this angle he can watch Sam watching the movie, and it’s fascinating. Dean rarely lets himself look so closely at Sam, but with the kid absorbed in the TV, Dean can look all he wants.

Sam’s growing up, and it hurts a little. Dean remembers the little snot-nosed kid who used to tag along everywhere Dean went, constantly needing his shoes tied and his nose wiped. Dean remembers Sam’s sweaty little arms clinging to his neck when Dean carried him home after falling off the monkey-bars in the playground, Sam’s hot tears dampening Dean’s shirt as he cried onto Dean’s shoulder. Dean remembers Sam’s little hand finding his under the covers of their shared bed, threading their fingers together for reassurance after a nightmare.

Sam never sleeps with him anymore, except for the rare times when they’re staying in a motel and Dad comes home late, kicking Dean out of the bed nearest the door so the boys are forced to share. Since he hit puberty, Sam’s been keeping to himself.

Dean leans back and lets his legs open wider, one foot comfortably resting on the other, his right knee falling easily against Sam’s shoulder. Sam’s too absorbed in the movie to notice, so Dean feels emboldened. He lifts his hand and strokes Sam’s neck lightly with the back of his fingers. Sam shivers but doesn’t move, so Dean does it again, stroking Sam’s neck all the way up and under his hair to his scalp. Sam’s hair is just as soft as Dean remembers, and it smells clean from Sam’s shower. Dean cards his fingers through the thick strands, letting them slide easily all the way to his palm, then does it again.

Sam’s sitting almost too still, so Dean grins as he runs his fingers through Sam’s hair a third time.

“Getting so long, Sammy,” he murmurs. His words comes out low and rough, and Sam shivers again. “Could be a real liability in a hunt.”

Sam doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t pull away or protest in that whiney, pouting teenage voice Dean’s used to. Instead, he leans into Dean’s touch, letting out a long, slow breath that’s almost a sigh. He tips his head back so that Dean has a view of his throat, long and lean like the rest of him.

Dean sucks in a quick breath, scoots down in his seat to accommodate his hardening dick. He keeps his hand in Sam’s hair as he takes another sip of whiskey, and that’s when it hits him.

He’s in love with his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, Sam feels the same.

Dean’s mind swims with whisky and his own startling revelation. It shouldn’t feel so good, figuring out that he’s in love with Sam. He should be flooded with shame.

At the very least, he should take his hand out of Sam’s hair.

Sam’s still got his head tipped back, throat exposed, eyes closed to mere slits, pretending to watch the movie. He’s obviously loving the scalp message, and Dean’s damned if he’ll stop giving Sam something that makes him so happy.

Not to mention how good Sam looks. He’s still got some baby fat softening his features, and Dean can definitely recognize the little boy he used to care for. But Sam’s growth spurt over this past year has given his face more definition, sharpening his chin and broadening his brow. Sam’s not just good-looking. Of course he is. He’s a Winchester, isn’t he? But now Dean sees something exceptional, something remarkable in Sam’s face that hasn’t yet reached its full potential.

Sam’s beautiful.

Dean stops messaging Sam’s scalp, lost in his thoughts and his new-found fascination with Sam’s face. Sam turns and looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, quizzical. He must see something funny in Dean’s expression because he blushes and grins shyly, dimples and teeth on full display.

“Dean, are you drunk?”

“No. Are you?” Dean holds the bottle just out of reach, and when Sam starts to climb onto the couch to get it he falls awkwardly across Dean’s lap.

Dean’s fully hard now. Sam’s eyebrows fly up and his lips part when he feels Dean’s erection pressing against his belly, and for a moment they stay like that, staring into each other’s eyes. Then, before he can think too much about what he’s doing, Dean sets the bottle down on the table beside the couch and takes Sam’s face in his hands. When Sam doesn’t pull away, just drops his eyes to Dean’s mouth and leans closer, it’s all the permission Dean needs.

Sam’s lips are soft and salty from the Funyuns. Dean kisses him carefully, tenderly, conveying all the love he feels for this boy in each gentle kiss. When he finally comes up for air, Sam’s looking up at him with a combination of relief and desire in his eyes, pupils blown so that only a tiny sliver of greenish-blue remains.

Nevertheless, Dean has to ask. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam breathes. “Always wanted this. Never knew you felt the same way.”

Dean shrugs. “Never knew I did, till today.”

Sam’s gaze is full of trust, full of little-boy hero-worship translated into something deeper, richer. Dean doesn’t know how he hasn’t noticed it before.

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

“Yeah.”

This time when they kiss, Sam tangles his fingers around the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him closer.


End file.
